


Professionals

by Thranduils_Bossy_Elk



Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen, Hilary Becker - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduils_Bossy_Elk/pseuds/Thranduils_Bossy_Elk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>whump!Becker </p><p>Takes place during Christine Johnson's takeover of the ARC.  What happened to Becker while he was trapped inside and the others were off fighting the Terror Birds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Run!" rang out Becker's voice from behind the running group.

Connor and Abby reached for each others hands as they tore down the ARC corridor as fast as their legs could carry them. Over the sound of their own breaths panting in their ears they could hear Christine Johnson's soldiers shouting from behind. Danny followed close behind, his broad face pulled into a worried grimace as he checked to make sure everyone was keeping pace with him. Sarah struggled to keep up, occasionally being propelled forward by Becker, who was bringing up the rear and attempting to hold the soldiers off at the same time.

Danny swore to himself. The team was his responsibility, damn it all! He had been ready to take over after Cutter's death but now for the first time realized the full responsibility the role carried. . .

Becker was running out of bullets. He tried to make each one count but firing while running down a narrow corridor and trying to make sure no one fell behind wasn't helping. They had been caught by surprise. Even prepared as he was, Becker knew the ARC wasn't ready for a full siege situation. He spared a second to glance back again; the soldiers were closing in. He could think of one way out: the underground parking lot that housed their SUV. Johnson's men probably hadn't had time to crack the alarm codes on the gates down there, and Danny had already proved that the garage was a weak spot. If Quinn could get in, they could get out. Becker calculated in his head as clearly as he could while gunshots rang out around him and his friends.

Hadn't there been a time when these people were just his charges? Now friends. The ARC certainly had that effect. They faced death on a daily basis, but somewhere mixed up with all that danger there were some wonderful, fantastic sights that the six of them had seen together. Becker had a flashing memory of the first time he had seen an herbivore calmly munching grass and been close enough to touch it. The feeling of the rough skin had left him wide-eyed with amazement, however reluctant he was to admit that to the rest of the team. Sarah had seen though, and smiled at him.

A fast rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire brought Becker back to the present. The group had finally gained the end of the corridor and swung left into the last lab room.

"This only buys us a couple minutes, people" Danny whispered roughly. His eyes were wide and he led the team as far back in the lab as they could get. Abby panted and held Connor's hand while he looked at Danny beseechingly.

"Danny . . . I don't know mate, they've got us good," Connor said in a low voice. "There's no exits on this side of the ARC."

Abby's eyes became steely.

"We are not getting murdered down here by Christine Johnson's thugs!" she whispered forcefully, pushing her hair back from her forehead. Her eyes softened for a second and Connor knew that she was remembering Rex who'd been in her lab before the attack. Knowing the clever creature though, he was probably well out of harm's way.

Becker skidded into the room last, ducking as plaster flew out from the wall behind him from gunshots.

"Connor!" he said at once, eyes roving till they landed on the Connor-esque hat sticking up from behind a lab table.

"Mate?" came the reply.

"Connor, I need some explosives, something that will make a lot of smoke, alright? Can you get your hands on something or mix one up?

Connor thought for a moment, his bright eyes flickering over each lab table surface.

"Um, yeah, no problem but Becker, how's this going to help?" he asked.

Becker strode back towards the door frame and prepared to continue holding the soldiers off.

"That smoke's going to get us out of here" he replied, gun raised and ready to defend the lab room.

* * *

With the Sarah's help, Connor managed to improvise an explosive that would create the smoke Becker had asked for. About fifteen feet away from the door of their lab was the elevator entrance. Although Christine Johnson had overridden the security features and put the ARC on lockdown, they could still in theory climb down the shaft and make it to the underground garage.

Sweat trickled down Becker's face as his bullet count lowered dangerously.

"Hurry it up, Connor!" he hissed impatiently.

"Alright, done!" said Connor triumphantly, holding several bottles in his fingerless-gloved hands and scurrying towards Becker.

Becker motioned the team to stand by him. He noticed Danny's face however. Danny was watching Becker carefully, noting his movements. So Danny knew the plan then. Becker sighed. He hadn't anticipated Danny's cooperation and would just have to deal with that when the time came.

"Alright guys," he whispered, "Connor, you're going to roll out those bottles and we're going to use the smoke to make it to the elevator shaft. We'll have a minute or so while the soldiers are disoriented enough to stop firing."

The team nodded. Danny's eyes narrowed slightly but he also went along with Becker's idea.

Becker held the advancing soldiers at bay with his last few gunshots as he briefed everyone.

"Go Connor!" he said finally. Connor lit the short fuses on the bottles and rolled them as far down into the hallway as he could. With only a few seconds delay, they blew.

The corridor filled instantly with white powdery mist. The shouts of Johnson's men seemed amplified by the sound distortion. Becker waited a few seconds as the men fanned blind shots through the mist, and then stopped.

"Stop, stop!" he heard a soldier yell. "We can't risk shooting Quinn, we'll get 'em in a sec, hang on lads!"

"Go!" whispered Becker.

The team raced forward, remembering rather than seeing where the elevator shaft was. They could hear each other's breaths amplified slightly. They gained the shaft door and, while Danny and Connor prized it open, Becker turned and faced the corridor they had come from, hoping against hope that the powdery mist wouldn't evaporate too quickly. He could hear the soldiers calling instructions to each other. They didn't seem quite as disoriented as he had hoped.

The doors finally slid open, and Sarah climbed in first, followed shortly by Connor, then Abby. She threw a worried look back at Becker as her friends helped her cling to the ropes inside the dark tunnel. Danny turned to face Becker, one hand on the ropes inside the shaft and one hand stretched out to Becker's shoulder.

"I know what you're trying to do, mate," Danny whispered worriedly, "Come on, you can't help us by staying behind!"

The lines around Becker's mouth tightened. He looked back at Danny and then at his teammates who had already begun to climb downwards.

"They need you, Danny," he whispered back. "This is my job, I found you guys a way out now you take it."

Danny opened his mouth to say something else but before he could Becker hissed again, "This is my job. Protecting you lot. If I can make your chances better by staying behind and holding them off for a little bit then I know what I have to do. Now get out of here, and Danny, you keep them safe."

Danny nodded slowly.

"I promise, mate" he said, and without a sound, dropped into the shaft and out of sight.

* * *

With the rest of the team disappearing into the elevator shaft, Becker turned and walked softly back to the main corridor. He followed the wall until he reached the main atrium of the ARC. He could see where Johnson's soldiers had retreated and were now consulting schematics of the ARC, trying to find the team. The place was lost. Becker smiled tightly At least he had been able to get his friends to safety, and if he had anything to do with it, the soldiers wouldn't know anything about the underground garage until it was too late. He drew his gun again.

"Drop your weapons!" he yelled, stepping into the atrium quickly and brandishing his weapon, which he hoped the soldier's didn't know was empty.

"Hold your fire!" he heard from the mass ahead of him. No one shot.

A uniformed soldier approached him confidently and aimed his weapon. Simultaneously another soldier closed in behind Becker and aimed.

"No, sir, you drop yours."

When Becker didn't obey immediately, the soldier behind him stepped up and cocked his gun barrel against Becker's head. Before the gun could make contact, however, Becker quickly sidestepped and instead brought his own handgun down on his attacker's arm, making the man drop the weapon and howl with agony.

"Don't shoot!" boomed the Captain, "We need him!"

Becker straightened up in time to see five soldiers rush him. He kept using the useless gun as a club and managed to give two of the men broken noses and the other three some spectacular bruises before they knocked his legs out from under him and tackled him to the ground. They dragged Becker's arms behind his back and cuffed him, twisting his wrists more than was strictly necessary in the process. One of the grizzled soldiers with blood dripping from his nose flipped Becker over and grinned menacingly into the younger man's face.

"Thanks for giving us a reason," he sneered, and backhanded Becker hard across the face.

Becker felt his cheek go numb from the force of the blow as something warm trickled out of his mouth. He bucked his hips and legs, trying to dislodge the man looming over him, but the soldier had better leverage. He gripped Becker's hair painfully tight and slammed the back of his head against the floor.

Becker's vision exploded with light. He tried desperately to slip his hands out of the cuffs, but the soldiers had made them too tight even for someone as experienced as him. His vision cleared to show the grizzled soldier still looming above him and apparently getting ready to give him another blow. Becker summoned all the strength he had left and, jerking his legs up, flipped the man over and dumped him on the ground a few feet away. His head was still ringing as a sharp pain in his left leg made him gasp soundlessly. He looked wildly around to see another soldier straightening up with a short nightstick in his hand.

The others clearly had the go-ahead from their commander and one stepped forward to kick Becker in the ribs. He rolled onto his side, trying to inch away but another kick to the stomach stopped his movements and left him struggling for breath. Suddenly one of the soldiers dragged him upright by pulling on his cuffed wrists. Becker hung, awkwardly suspended from behind by his bound arms as another man stepped forward and punched him in the stomach repeatedly. Winded and gasping painfully, his struggles grew weaker.

The captain approached slowly. When he was near enough, he put his hand under Becker's chin and forced his head up. Becker didn't look away. Even with blood all over his face he managed to look like a worthy opponent.

"Ms. Johnson has a few questions for you," the captain said, eyes boring into Becker's.

"She can ask all she wants," said Becker through broken lips, "I'm not telling her anything that will compromise this team," His dark eyes didn't falter, "I warn you, I'm a professional."

The captain smiled tightly. "As I'm sure you'll soon find, so am I."


	2. Chapter 2

The soldiers dragged Becker across the ARC's atrium and were about to board the big elevator that led to other parts of the building when a woman's voice called out.

"Wait" said Christine Johnson coolly.

She approached slowly, heels clicking loudly with every step. Becker watched her without expression.

Finally, she stood in front of him.

"Captain Becker, isn't it?" Her voice was ambitious and smooth. "I'd like for you to cooperate. We're both working for the Minister after all, and since James Lester has been removed from office you'll get your orders from me." Her smile was bright, but cruel.

Becker smiled humorlessly.

"You have a unique talent," he said softly, his eyes full of contempt.

Johnson's expression didn't change except for a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Becker kept going.

"You begin to make me prefer the company of Velociraptors."

Christine Johnson smiled ingratiatingly.

"Come now Captain," she said, "The rewards for your cooperation could be very great and I'm afraid it's within my power to . . ." Her eyes travelled up and down his body, taking in the bruises and cuts, " . . . Persuade you."

One of the soldiers holding Becker gripped his hair roughly. Becker's head snapped back, leaving his Adam's apple exposed. Christine Johnson walked over to one of Connor's lab tables and admired the heating lamp that had been warming small coils of conduit wire for his next project. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she picked one of the heated coils up and carried it over to where her men had forced Becker to his knees and held his head back. Without any expression, she held the heated metal close to Becker's jumping Adam's apple.

"Captain, you can either make this easy on yourself or force me to get rather nasty. I'll be very, very clear," her eyes shone greedily, "Where is the Artifact?"

Becker gave no response. He simply kept his eyes trained on Christine Johnson's and saw in them what was coming.

With a swiftness that surprised even her men, she put the heated coil against the sensitive skin of Becker's neck. He tried not to make a sound but the burn was worse than he had expected. A muffled moan escaped his nose as he clenched his teeth and tried in vain to pull away from the man holding his hair so tightly. Christine Johnson's hand stayed steady. Becker's neck was burning badly, he couldn't break away from the men holding him down. When his struggles became more desperate, Christine Johnson finally took the wire away from his neck.

Becker sagged against the men holding him. He still didn't make a noise but his breaths were heavier and his eyes were wide.

"Take him downstairs," ordered Christine Johnson coolly. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere. I know Quinn's got the Artifact, and the Captain here is our ticket to finding him."

* * *

The soldiers and Becker exited the elevator on the fifth floor below ground. There were a couple holding cells down here for emergencies, and as he was dragged towards them Becker briefly considered the indignity of being locked up in the building that he was supposed to control and protect.

The soldiers unlocked one of the white, sterile rooms and pushed Becker inside. With his hands still cuffed behind him, he was unable to break his fall and landed heavily on his shoulder, making the burn on his neck flare angrily. Knowing the types of men that Johnson had hired, he tried to turn around quickly, but was too slow to stop two of them from taking him under the arms and pinning him against the wall of the cell.

Becker snarled at the men.

"You're poor excuses for soldiers," he snapped, thinking of his own men and the code he kept them to. The heavy-set soldier with the graying beard stepped forward and backhanded Becker across the face, hard. Becker slid a little way down the wall and spat blood from his mouth. With barely any time to consider what he was doing, he gathered his legs beneath him and launched himself at the soldier's knees, barreling into him and knocking his legs out from under him. The soldier stumbled and fell to the floor heavily, but not before two others had grabbed Becker's arms again and thrown him back against the wall. Becker struggled harder. He headbutted a man and sent that captor sprawling to the floor. Becker grinned, showing bloodied teeth. Piece of cake.

Then a sharp crack and a sick crunching sound followed by a burst of white pain forced him to stumble backwards against the cell wall. His chest was on fire. The soldier he had first knocked down stood over him, holding a short club. He raised it again and with a whoosh cracked the heavy club into Becker's ribs.

Becker could barely breathe. Another crack and his collarbone shattered under the man's attack. Becker tried to prop himself up against the cell wall, but he was helpless with his arms cuffed behind him.

" . . . bastards . . ." he mumbled, eyes less focused now. The soldier smiled gleefully at his companions and, almost in slow motion, hit Becker again.

This time Becker's knees gave out. He slid down the wall to slump dazedly on the hard stone floor.


	3. Chapter 3

The soldiers left Becker in his cell for what seemed like hours. He lay curled against the stone wall, willing himself to breathe and get enough oxygen even though bolts of pain rushed through his chest every time he took a breath. During the first few hours his mind had kept cycling through different awful scenarios: Danny shot and crumpled, Connor screaming for Abby, Sarah. . . Becker ground his teeth and closed his eyes. After losing himself to his thoughts for too long, Becker forced his mind to stop and dedicated himself to one thought only: get out, find the team.

His arms were still pulled behind his back, the tendons protesting as he shifted slightly. His fingers explored the metal cuffs holding his chafed wrists together and slid over the smooth surface. With a sinking feeling he realized that these wouldn't come off easily. He slid his fingers over the cuffs again, hoping for a more prominent keyhole, but even as he did so he knew that he had nothing with which to pick the lock. Becker gritted his teeth at the alternative. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but considering the condition he was in this wouldn't be easy. Becker emptied his lungs, and as carefully as he could, doubled himself over so that he could pass his arms around his legs and over to his front. The first movement sent a flash of pain through his broken ribs and he let out a cry. Becker could feel his ribs grating against each other but he continued to bend over. His arms had grown numb, and pulling them around his long legs made him feel clumsy. He exhaled quickly, trying to decrease the circumference of his chest and minimize the compression of his broken ribs, but it didn't help as much as he had hoped. With a final tug, his cuffed arms cleared the heavy combat boots and he allowed himself to unfold.

Becker lay still for several minutes before moving. His chest burned and the pins and needles in his arms from returning circulation were fierce. If the guards had chosen that moment to come in, Becker knew he wouldn't be able to defend himself. Thankfully, his cell remained empty while his arms recovered.

When the circulation had returned to his arms, Becker pushed himself up carefully and sat with his back against the wall. He took a moment to drag his forearm over his face, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead and pushing back his dark hair. A stinging pain reminded him of the angry burn still marked on his neck. He gingerly tried to pull his collar away from it.

Standing up would present a bigger challenge than he was willing to admit, but with only a moment of hesitation he gathered his legs under himself and, using his bound arms as support, inched himself slowly up the wall. Becker's bruised knee immediately began shaking under the strain, but it would hold for now.

Becker made his way slowly around the cell until he stood in front of the locked door. Pressing his ear against the metal, he tried to hear if there were voices outside. Nothing. Becker's soldier sense grew uneasy; it was unlike Johnson to neglect his cell and not post a guard. Still, he knew he had to take the chance.

Becker worked the cuffs so that he would be able to choke a man with the chain, and positioned himself by the door, ready. They had to come back sometime.

* * *

After another hour of waiting, however, Becker's resolve was weakening. His chest was killing him, the pain blurring his vision sometimes. He had slipped into a crouch behind the door. No sounds from outside still. His head dropped down onto his chest briefly, the silence of the cell worming its way into his mind.

But then came the sounds he'd been waiting for. The thud of footsteps from outside. Becker scrambled into position, ready to drag down whoever came through that door first.

* * *

The sound of a keycard being inserted in the lock, then the door began to swing open. A soldier holding a glass of water appeared, and before his eyes could register the absence of their prisoner, Becker slammed into him. He pulled the chain of his cuffs hard against the man's throat and turned them around to face the second soldier.

"Drop it," hissed Becker, his eyes deadly serious.

The man was hesitant. Becker pulled harder on the soldier's windpipe, eliciting an awful choke that he tried to block from his mind. Becker may have had a military career, but his experience with actually inflicting pain on others was virtually nonexistent. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the man in front of him.

"I said _DROP IT,"_ he yelled. "Your communicators too."

The man finally did as he said, letting the gun and walkie talkie clatter to the floor and kicking it gingerly into the hallway.

"Now the handcuff keys."

The guard hesitated.

" _COME ON!"_ Becker accentuated his point by tightening the chain on his captive's neck. The increased pressure on his ribs made his vision swim for a moment, but Becker stubbornly held on.

A small flash of silver and handcuff keys landed on the corridor floor.

"Get in." Becker said, motioning with his head towards the corner of the cell.

As soon as the man passed him, Becker shoved the soldier he'd been choking into the other's back, making them fall to the ground in a heap. He darted out of the cell, slamming the door. His last glimpse was of the two turning back towards him and the unhurt soldier lunging for the door.

Becker picked up the dropped weapon quickly, before any more of Johnson's men could show up. Away from the adrenaline of the fight, however, Becker took a moment to press a hand against his ribs. Breathing still took more effort than he was comfortable with, and this encounter had forced him to crush his chest even more. He could feel the shift of his broken collarbone under the skin. He set about unlocking the cuffs, wiggling the tiny key into the hole and hearing the satisfying _click_ when the cuffs opened. Becker rubbed the chafed skin for a moment before picking up his gun and hurrying down the corridor. Danny and the others needed him.


	4. Chapter 4

The glare of white-washed walls pressed uncomfortably against Becker's eyes as he made his way through the underground corridors. He moved quickly, knowing that there were cameras down here having placed them himself. At this point he could only pray that Johnson was short-staffed enough to not be monitoring all cameras. A quick crack of his gun's magazine revealed a disappointing three bullets remaining.

He knew these passages well enough to be sure that he was nearby a satellite phone. The ARC kept these communicators on hand in case of a power shortage or cell tower failure. Now with any luck Johnson didn't know about then. . .

Becker found his way to the satellite box. It was perched on the wall in a small alcove. He looked both ways down the corridor before sticking the gun in his waistband and using the handcuff key again to jimmy open the locked box. He really didn't want to have to shoot the lock off. A few more pries with the key and he was able to jam one of the cuff loops under the lid and apply enough leverage to wrench the small door off. Again, Becker glanced uneasily both ways, uncomfortable with the apparent slackness of Johnson's soldiers.

He reached inside and took the clumsy satellite phone from its cradle. The phone was based on GPS tracking coordinates rather than traditional phone numbers, so Becker knew he could reach Danny at the pre-arranged safehouse.

He keyed in the first coordinate, the phone's screen showing a pixelated zoom. Becker was still uncomfortable. The soldier's sense at the base of his neck prickled.

He keyed in the second coordinate, the phone's big screen zooming in further.

He raised his hand to key in the third coordinate for triangulation.

Becker stopped. The sweat trickling down his neck was cold.

He lowered his hand. _This was the reason there were no soldiers around._ He reached for the gun at his waistband but wasn't quick enough. A barrel clicked above his head.

"You didn't seriously think we would let you escape that easily, did you Captain?"

Becker turned his head slowly, then up. The air vent above him had swung open and a gun pointed down from the darkness.

_You fool._

* * *

They roughly tied Becker to the straight-backed chair that faced Christine Johnson's desk. The glass walls meant that Becker could see the whole central hub of the ARC and just how many men Johnson had.

She slapped Becker to get his attention.

"I'm losing my patience, Captain," she said in a low voice, "Tell me the third coordinate." She held out the satellite phone with the two already-typed coordinates pulsing gently, her finger ready to key in the next number.

Becker let all of his disgust show on his face as she circled him. He felt, rather than saw her beckon to a couple of her men. One grasped Becker's hair from behind while the other swung his fist into Becker's jaw.

"The coordinates?"

No answer. They hit Becker again.

"I'm not playing at this Captain, I intend to get what I want."

Nothing.

Another blow.

Becker's nose and mouth were bleeding now. He refused to make a sound, but that resolve was wearing thin.

"Anything you want to say, Captain?"

This time the soldier drove his fist against Becker's ear, the force hard enough to tip his chair over and leave Becker lying on his left side, still tied. All his weight bore down on his left arm, trapped between the floor and the chair's back. Becker clenched his teeth. The fall had knocked most of his breath out, and recovering meant straining his shattered ribs even more.

Christine Johnson knelt down next to his head. A strand of dark hair had fallen over Becker's eyes and she gently brushed it away. Becker recoiled sharply at her touch. Her hand lingered on his temple, invading his space. After several beats, she withdrew it. Her touch left a sick feeling in Becker's stomach.

A soldier handed Johnson a clumsy-looking box with wire trailing from it.

"Thank you," she murmured, placing it on the floor. She reached for Becker's shirt button.

Realizing what the box was, Becker struggled against her prying fingers. It didn't matter. She swiftly unbuttoned his combat jacket, exposing his undershirt. Lifting the hem, she attached two wires to his chest and two to his stomach. Her touch on his torso was cold. Johnson smiled. She knew Becker was breaking.

Sitting back, Christine Johnson took the generator in her hands and turned the dial a quarter of the way up.

Becker's back arched, his eyes wide. In his head he heard someone yelling . . . was it himself? The electricity burned through his body, a white-hot pain that filled every inch of him.

Then it stopped. Panting, the pain in his ribs forgotten, Becker looked up at Johnson and found her smiling down at him. He was trapped, immobile. He tried to remember that he was doing this for Danny and the team, but as the dial was turned up again he found it harder and harder to remember.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Becker's screams still echoed through the atrium of the ARC. Some of the soldiers were uncomfortable, some didn't care.

In Christine Johnson's office, she turned the dial down from its three-quarter setting and sat back, dispassionately observing her handiwork. Moisture beaded in the corners of Becker's eyes, his angry tears unshed. He was shaking uncontrollably. He spat at her, but no saliva came out.

Johnson's eyes narrowed, her mouth a tight line.

Becker knew that pulling at his bonds was useless, but his spasming muscles kept trying anyways. Christine worked her fingers under his shirt and and slowly peeled the electrodes off his stomach. The burns were fresh and raw. Becker whimpered, hating himself instantly for being so weak, but he couldn't stop.

Christine Johnson smiled at the pathetic noise, leaning closer and enjoying the suffering in Becker's dark eyes. He shivered at the naked greed in her face, realizing properly for perhaps the first time that she was going to make him do something he didn't want to.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oy, Connor, can't you hurry up with that signal?"

Connor threw Danny a frustrated look as he typed rapidly into the receiving satellite phone at the cabin. Behind them, Abby and Sarah rooted through mounds of old paper while wearing, Connor sighed deeply, fancy dresses. Although one more peek at Abby and he wasn't too upset after all he decided.

"Becker's buying us time," Danny continued. "He needs us to get back there pronto, _with the transmission from the ARC_."  
Abbie wandered over, looking worried.

"Surely you think Becker can handle himself, don't you? I mean, he's not in any real danger?"

Danny just tightened his lips.

"I 'ope not."

Finally, Connor was able to receive the ARC's message. It was a voice file containing an extremely unflattering description of the Prime Minister . . . Connor stifled a laugh.

Danny swung into action.

"Alright, let's get back then. A friend needs our help."

* * *

Miles away, James Lester's phone beeped quietly. A smug smile spread on his face as he approached the ARC and demanded to be let in. His persuasion? The SWAT team behind him and the recording of Johnson's voice.

"I believe you're sitting in my chair."

Johnson looked up disbelievingly as Lester entered the office again, the shouts of his SWAT team echoing from downstairs. Lester took one step into the office- and caught sight of the mostly-unconscious Becker on the floor. Johnson was wiping her reddened hands on the Captain's shirt. Lester didn't need to ask twice where that red came from. He swallowed hard, pinpoints of black suddenly dotting his vision.

"You don't have any authority here, James." Johnson said calmly.

"Oh no? I think you'll find, Christine, that _this_ gives me the authority." he pressed _play_ on his phone, turning the volume up on Christine Johnson's own voice.

Lester sounded flippant, but under the sarcastic facade his stomach was doing flips as he tried to keep his mind off the moaning Becker on the ground. Lester was afraid that if he looked, even for a second, he would lose it.

Johnson snarled at him, her green eyes on fire.

"This isn't over, James," she said as Danny and the rest burst into the office. Danny took one look at Becker, still tied to the chair and unconscious, and yelled for the SWAT soldiers to take her away.  
Her eyes burned all the way out of the ARC.

* * *

Danny was the first to reach the limp form under the control panel. He lifted Becker gently and turned him over. Becker's face was a mess of cuts and bruises, and Danny could feel his ribs shifting. His wheezing breath hitched and his eyes fluttered open.

Abbie caught up with them, her eyes going wide at the scene before her. Becker had always tended to act like a man twice his age, perhaps to make up for his actual youth or for his feminine sounding first name, but now he looked younger than Abby could ever have imagined.

Becker's lips fluttered.

" _Hey guys. Did-didn't tell 'em anything-don't g-gotta worry-"_

"Is he alright?" Connor asked anxiously, catching up and kneeling next to Danny. Becker moved uneasily, eyes trying to focus on Danny's face as he clutched his chest. Connor and Danny exchanged a look. Becker's shirt was wetter than it should have been from just sweat...

Connor lifted Becker's undershirt carefully and blanched. In the struggle, one of the broken ribs had punched through Becker's skin, the white bone exposed. The wound leaked blood.

Danny's face contorted with anger.

"Those utter _bastards_ ," he breathed. "Look," he pointed at the red burns on Becker's chest. "They _tortured_ him. He didn't just get these fighting, they _did this to him, to hurt him on purpose"._

Connor looked sick.

"Will he make it?" He asked, eyes wide. "Danny, mate, he did this for _us_. If he don't pull through..."

Danny's eyes were steely.

"Don't you worry, Connor," he said, "every day, every mission, we're his responsibility. Now he's _our_ responsibility, and won't see our friend hurt again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked!!! I've been writing this on and off since this past spring, so phew it's finally done ^_^  
> whump 5evaaaaaa


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